


Silent Hills - PT - The Loop

by FightTheThorn



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Matter of Life and Death, Stream of Consciousness, Time Loop, Wet Clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5100179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FightTheThorn/pseuds/FightTheThorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate universe to the Silent Hills PT where Norman finds more trouble going through the loop of hallways than just the few obstacles he faced in the demo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Hills - PT - The Loop

**Author's Note:**

> If you think of any extra tags you would like me to add, please let me know! I'll gladly add what fits. 
> 
> His name is Norman, because I don't believe he ever received a canon name.

Long fingers wrapped around his neck, squeezing hard. Norman’s hands reached up in terror to scratch the hands from his neck. No matter how much he scratched at them, he couldn’t feel her hands, he couldn’t pry them off.

His vision began to blacken… cloudy darkness filling his eyes… and then he blacked out.

He was startled awake, his whole body shaking as he remembered that woman grabbing him, choking him,  _killing_ him.  His breathing was ragged and his throat felt like it was on fire, but after a few minutes of steady breathing, he felt calm.  It was a huge relief to find himself out of that twisted loop and in the dark cabin-like room where it all started again.  The cool temperature of the room seemed to surround him, ebbing away the pain of his nightmare.

It took another moment for Norman to realize that something was different this time around.

Norman opened his eyes and looked down at his body.  He was bound with rope lashed all over.  He immediately began to thrash around in panic, feeling it rise up from his stomach as he realized the rope wasn’t letting go.  It wasn’t a joke or part of his imagination.  Rope had been wrapped around his wrists and ankles with professional skill. There was no give or room to slip out, he couldn’t even see the knots, let alone get to them, but the rope over his legs had been hasty and, although tight, seemed simple.  There was also rope tied around his torso, pushing his arms against his back. 

He tried to call for help, not that he had seen anyone, or anything, -- except that crazy woman -- but he had been gagged.  The gag felt rough, gnawing at the edges of his lips, and, as he tried to push it out, the texture was painful to the touch of his tongue.  His captor had gagged him with jute rope, and when he moved his head too far forward, he felt rope pull at his wrists.  Norman, fully aware that he’d only ever seen the woman who tried to kill him (who must be responsible for his predicament), quickly stifled his muffled cries and began looking around for something to help him.

He struggled for what felt like hours, grunting and pulling at his bonds. 

There was nothing in the room to help him.  He peered over his shoulder, realizing there was mumbling or talking coming from the table behind him.  No one was there and he ignored it. There was a door; however, on the other side of the room.

The only option was to go for the door.  If he stayed, the woman – or even the disembodied voices he couldn’t see – might decide to kill him… for real this time.

Norman tried to stand up.  As long as the endless hall still worked the same way, there should be broken bottles and shards on the floor in the hallway beyond that door. If the door took him there, he could use it to cut the ropes… at least, he hoped it would. 

It took a few attempts to figure out how difficult it was to stand, but he had to get to the doorknob.  He wiggled and squirmed on the floor, letting out a grunt of disgust as a cockroach scurried past him and then doubled back to crawl over him.  He jerked, thankful that the cockroach flew a good distance away from him.  It fell to the floor and stopped moving. 

Norman reached the opposite wall and, with great effort, pushed himself up against it, trying with all his might to angle himself up.

Once, twice, three attempts, four attempts, and finally, he stood, bracing himself against the wall.  He sighed, exhausted and breathing heavily through his nose.  The ropes never loosened, never budged an inch, in fact, they actually felt like they were getting tighter, but Norman was sure it was all in his head.  His helplessness and the silence of only his ragged breathing was getting to him.

His eyes travelled around the room, thinking that perhaps his height would offer a new perspective.  Norman shuddered, scowling at a bag, which was clearly full of feces, as it continued mumbling and talking from its position on the table. It shifted as it spoke, but what it said was unhelpful and Norman was only more disturbed. 

With renewed vigour, Norman made his way over to the door.  He was afraid to hop because, if he lost his balance, he’d wind up on the floor again and falling meant more time wasted.  It didn’t take too long to reach the door, shuffling his feet while keeping himself braced up against the wall until he reached it.  Norman put his back against the door and grabbed hold of the knob.  He turned the knob and pulled, hopping quickly and praying that he didn’t tip over and fall.  Norman managed to dance around the door and turned around to hop through the doorway while fighting to remain upright.

It was bright. The previous room had been dimly lit, so it took Norman blinking a few times for his eyes to adjust.  The moment he saw the broken bottle shards, he went straight for them. He threw caution to the wind, hopped loudly and quickly as he kept close to the wall in case he lost his balance. 

After a few minutes of grunting in frustration and concentration, Norman wriggled his hands, attempting to get circulation again.  His body was covered from head to toe in sweat and the ache of being bound for so long caught up to him.  Norman got close enough that one more hop would get him there; however, he slipped, letting out a cry from the inevitable pain as he fell. Norman hit the floor on his side with a bang.  He moaned and groaned, a tear or two stinging his eyes as his body shook from the initial impact.  He took a moment to relax before looking up and surveying his surroundings.

A sound, a creaking of floor panels, the sound of shuffling feet followed by a man’s laughter.

Norman’s eyes widened, looking around for the bottle shards. He spotted one by his stomach and quickly turned over. His breathing increased as he fumbled desperately to get the shard in his hands.  He couldn’t see the shard over his shoulder, especially in his frantic state.  Norman kept his eyes on the end of the hallway, watching for someone to come around the corner.  The man had to be an accomplice of the crazy woman.  He’d rather be free and able to get away than wait to see if this new person was an enemy or not. He had to get the shard and start cutting!  The throbbing pain mixed with the beating of his heart, beating hard against his chest.

His fingers clasped his saviour…

A man came around the corner, moving sluggishly and jerkily.  The moment those white soulless eyes focused on him, the man moved quick, fast.  His head jerked and twitched.  The lights in the hall flashed off.  Norman couldn’t see anything or comprehend what the man had looked like.  Maybe fear and panic had clouded his eyes.  The one thing he realized after his eyes had adjusted to the darkness was the being held a knife in his hand, blood dripping down from it onto the floor.  He came, walking at first, steadily coming closer and closer. Norman was paralyzed with utter fear, screaming from behind his gag.  The figure reached out and grabbed him by the hair.

Norman struggled and bucked; suddenly filled with adrenaline.  His pleading screams were muffled and he sobbed from the pain stinging from his skull.

Down the hallway, round the corner, into the door – a bathroom--, blood and mud covering the floor, smears on the mirror, soft crying from a baby reverberating around the room, the bathtub smelled of piss and copper – and Norman was unceremoniously lifted and rolled into the tub.  Norman’s face hit the tub, a sharp in-take of breath through his nose, taking in the full smell of it. He almost wanted to pass out, but the smell of the tub filled his lungs, the faucet behind him turned with a loud squeak and cold water poured above him.

He let out a grunt, thrashing his head, moving as swiftly as he could in his state to turn around.  Norman took a face full of ice cold water as he thumped about in the tub. It was hard to breathe as the water poured over his face, too fast for him to properly recover.  It took a minute of thrashing around, of pushing against the other end of the tub with his feet, to get him sitting up straight and able to look around.

Norman breathed heavily, gasping for air just out of the water’s reach of his face.  He saw his captor looking in the mirror, face down toward the sink, knife hanging off the edge, he looked like he was laughing, his shoulders moving up and down in gestating motions.

He swallowed as best as he could, feeling that his life was about to come to an end.  Norman fought his bonds like he hadn’t before, bucking wildly, pulling at all the ropes binding his body.

Surely one of them had to come free.

Just one.

One.

One…

He took a sharp breath as he felt pain surge from his palm.

A cut…

Norman’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared as he took hold of the bottle shard and started cutting franticly at the rope binding his feet.  In his fear, he must have grasped the shard and held onto it as tightly as he could.  It took another few precious seconds to pull his feet up behind him, using the tub wall to help prop his feet back.  He cut himself a few times in his attempts to free his ankles.  The cold water made it hard to feel his fingers.  At least he didn’t feel the cuts as strongly, but it was difficult to cut himself free. Thankfully he was rewarded with freedom. His feet came free with a snap of the rope.  In a fit of immediate pleasure, Norman struggled against the rope, sad to realize that the rope binding the rest of his body hadn’t followed suit.  The rope tangled around his legs loosened and slipped off him as the water fell down on him.

His eyes flashed to his captor.

The man was still laughing, but his whole body began to convulse, arching his back with his mouth open.  Even Norman could hear the laughter over the cold water splattering the tub. 

In a surge of courage, fear, and stupidity, Norman moved as carefully as he could to get up out of the tub. He almost slipped a few times, a few near misses with his head and the edge of the tub, but he stepped out, soaking wet, every inch of his body was completely soaked.  He let out a shiver as warm air from the hallway met his cold figure.

He shook his head to clear his long clumped hair from his eyes. In a moment of resolution, Norman charged, bashing his side against his captor’s back.  He quickly rebounded back against the bathroom door, hearing the mirror crack as his captor smashed his head against it and hit his head against the sink before thudding to the ground.

Not willing to stick around and see if he was awake, dead, or pissed off, Norman took off, scampering down the now lit hallway, cutting at his bonds with the small bottle shard in the process.  He turned to look over his shoulder to see a hand reach out from the bathroom.  Suddenly, his feet slipped out from under him, his boots wet against the wood floor, falling head first down the small stairs and to the floor.

Norman groaned in pain, shaking his head to get an understanding of how bad the fall had been. His body ached, sore from the rope, sore from his falls, his mouth felt like it was bleeding – the taste of copper was strong --, his body was cold and wet… Norman shook, unsure if it was fear, the cold, or a mental break-down. He felt tears well up again, so afraid and in such pain.

Norman shook his head.

The hand.

The hand coming from the bathroom.

His captor.

Once again, pushing himself from the floor, body willed to work, Norman staggered to stand with the wall and his freed legs as crutches. It was the oddest sensation, exhaustion begging for him to let the body rest and adrenaline keeping him going.  He turned his head to see his captive up the stairs, shuffling his feet, angered growls and curses, knife gripped firmly in his hand.

Norman pushed at the wall, rushing toward the door. He had to get to the door. This had to lead outside these halls. It had to.

His back was against the door again.  He fumbled with the knob, cutting his fingers with the shard in an effort to keep his only weapon; howeveruseless behind his back. Norman dropped the shard, focusing all his attention on the knob. He could see the figure limping after him. His fingers worked furiously at the knob.  The captor let out a psychotic scream of pure rage.

The knob turned.

The door opened.

His whole body felt the relief of the situation as he pushed backwards into the door and fell back.  The door closed behind him of its own accord. A white door he found very familiar.

And he was back where he started. The white halls stretched out before him like some sick joke. Too long, unwelcoming.

Norman felt his heart pounding against his chest like a jack-hammer, threatening to burst from him.

He breathed heavily, eyes staring at the door behind him and then to the long stretching hallway in front of him.  The door acted like a loop, mixing in dimensions, or whatever.  That’s what the bag seemed to suggest when he’d been bound and gagged in the cabin-like room. There hadn’t been anyone else for him to ask and try to figure out what was going on.  Norman just knew that the door he came through wouldn’t open from his end… but what if the psycho wanted to come through it after him?

His eyes flashed to the hallway in front of him again.

What if it only just put Norman behind the crazy mad-man?

There was a pause, Norman trying to get his breathing under control, to make as little noise as possible. He had to hear, had to know.

…

…

…

Nothing.

It was just the sound of Norman’s heart beating in anticipation. 

With a sigh of relief, Norman rest at the door for a moment, letting his body rest, before he used his legs to propel him across the carpet floor and to the shards of glass.  The shard he’d taken before was still there and he reached out for it, grasped it easier than before, and started to cut.  He used his newfound freedom with his feet and used the wall as a brace, pushing himself up. It didn’t take nearly as long as it did before, able to use his legs to hold his weight and shift it to stand; then he walked down the hall, all the while cutting at the bonds at his wrists.

They came free easily enough when he wasn’t pressed for time.  Next came the rope around his torso and that’s where he stopped.

He pressed himself against the wall before rounding the corner.  The bathroom and the hallway could still have the mad-man, but this time Norman’s hands were free and he had a weapon too. Norman’s pulse picked up again, the temporary peace he enjoyed a distant memory. 

Norman turned around the corner quickly. There was no one in the hallway. He quickly entered the bathroom and found that there was no one there either.  In a fit of paranoia, he jerked his head out of the bathroom. The right, the left, back around the corner.

The man wasn’t there. There wasn’t anyone there, just Norman.

For a man who was starting to get agitated with the loneliness of the never-ending loop, the silence and the solitude was extremely welcoming.

He exhaled, inhaled, and realized he was still gagged.

Norman made his way over to the basement steps and walked down them, untying the rope pressing against his cheeks. It came off relativelyeasily, leaving a rawness behind.  He rubbed where he knew would be red marks, hoping to get his jaw back to normal.

He reached out and touched the doorknob, heart beating a little faster.

What if… this cycle was safe? What if it wasn’t? What if the next one held more horrors?

Norman swallowed before turning the knob and walking through the door.

It was the same hallway as before, but Norman had been filled with a sense of foreboding because of that encounter. He edged his way along the hallway, jumping at shadows, the radio turning itself on, and the wail of the baby fetus from the bathroom sink.

Yet nothing happened.

Nothing out of the usual, anyway.

He went through the door again, and again, and again, and again.

Everything seemed like it was the same. Some weird words appeared on the wall and giggling was added, but he didn’t see creatures of evil or violence.

Norman started to feel a little relief from the tension, but stopped right after he turned the corner in the hallway.

The bathroom door was cracked open again. Norman didn’t get to see what was inside last time because of a certain mad-woman choking the life out of him. He peered inside, reaching a hand up to pull the bathroom door open and then he heard a soft whisper behind him.

He swung around, flailing his arms, ready for a fight.

Nothing. 

He let himself breathe a little, adrenaline slowly leaving him. It was all in his head. He was becoming paranoid. This place… is safe.

Norman turned around to check the bathroom again and opened the door a little more.

The radio turned on and screamed “LOOK BEHIND YOU.”

 

Norman twisted around and found the woman towering over him, hands already clamping around his neck. He let out a strangled scream, flailing his arms at her, trying to use his legs to push her off. It was like there was no body for him to defeat, nothing to pull off him, and yet there she was, choking him with her crazy eyes staring into his own.

 

And finally, his eyes went black, and he fainted.

\---

 

He awoke.

 

Did he die each time? Did she only leave him unconscious and then throw him around, out of the loop somehow?

 

Norman didn’t know, but what he did know, was that he was bound again.

 

His arms were pulled in front of him, trapped in cloth, clasped somewhere behind him in a straight-jacket. It felt like one, at least. Norman couldn’t tell because he had a blindfold over his eyes. He was gagged again, something stuffed into his mouth and something covering his mouth and holding his jaw in place. His feet were free this time, but with the addition of the blindfold, he wasn’t sure the situation could’ve been categorized as “much better.”

 

As immediately as he realized he was in this state, he started to struggle, thrashing about, pulling at his bonds. He rolled around on the floor and between his grunts and groans, he heard the ‘bag’ talking again. Not everything was different this time around, then.

 

Norman felt around with his feet for the table, propping himself up against it. He tried to use the leg of the table to remove the blindfold, gently scratching his temple against the leg to see if the blindfold would budge. It came off with a little extra effort and time, pulled up over his head and onto the floor.

 

It was a relief to have his sight restored. He looked around him, looking for changes or similarities. Nothing was different that he could see.

 

The bag spouted off the same words as last time, so Norman ignored it. He propped himself up against the wall and let out as best of a sigh as he could muster.

 

He grunted as he tried to pull his arms free from the straight-jacket.

 

What was with this loop and their penchant for bondage?

 

At least nothing had happened in the cabin before. Maybe he was safe from the woman and the mad-man in the cabin… but then… how did he get into the cabin?

 

The door burst open, banging hard against the wall and coming off its hinges, splitters hitting the floor.

 

A man, or a creature with a man’s body, walked into the room. He wore a giant metal pyramid shaped helmet (or headgear) and ragged, dirty cloth. A long as fuck sword, as big as Norman’s whole body, followed Pyramid Head inside.

 

Norman sat in shock, his eyes widened, his struggles momentarily ceased.

 

It paused for a moment, standing in the doorway. The large metallic head moved mechanically, jerking, then stopping, jerking then stopping.

 

Norman’s eyes moved quickly over the intruder’s body, looking at the muscled human-like figure, the dirt and grime, the  _blood_. His body shook, his arms pulled, frantically fighting to be free, to give Norman a fighting chance. There was  _no fucking way_  this thing was  _good_.

 

Pyramid Head snapped onto Norman. It shuffled over, the sound of the foot in tandem with the scrape of the sword’s edge against the wooden floor.

 

They looked into each other’s eyes. Well, Norman looked into the black mesh metal abyss and Pyramid Head looked out from under the metal. Norman completely filled with fear, realizing just how helpless he was and how all his other encounters with anyone in this place seemed to end with the inevitability of possible death, and Pyramid Head reaching a hand out and stroking Norman’s hair.

 

Norman swallowed. He let out a gagged plea, his exhaustion giving way to a few tears of fear.

 

And like a switch, Pyramid Head grabbed Norman by the hair, raising him up off the floor by it. He pushed Norman onto the table and grabbed the straight-jacket by the back and turned around, forcefully pulling Norman behind him.

 

Norman’s body bucked, thrashing in his bonds, screaming out in pure fear as Pyramid Head dragged him along the floor and into the abyss.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Dresden, Johnny Marcone, or Cujo.
> 
> Like what you see? If you're interested in commissioning me, please check my website: http://jesselwolfe.wix.com/wolfeinc


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